


Bad Liar

by tobeconquered



Series: more than I’m supposed to [4]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, F/M, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-10 23:58:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18418595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobeconquered/pseuds/tobeconquered
Summary: With my feelings on fireGuess I'm a bad liar





	Bad Liar

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not sure what to say about this one except I’m not entirely satisfied with how it turned out. My friend (who requested these) liked it, but I think she’s just happy I’m finally writing them 😂  
> At any rate, thank you all for your support on these last few works and I hope you enjoy this one as well. 
> 
> If you want to listen, this one is based on Bad Liar by Selena Gomez

Sam has been up for nearly 72 hours when Janet finally pulls rank on her and sends her home. Honestly, she would have fought harder, but Janet had promised her she’d allow her back on base in 12 hours - just long enough for her to get some sleep. 

Sam doesn’t relish the idea of losing 12 hours of work, but everyone knew that Janet could be downright napoleonic.

Sam’s stomach clenches when she thinks of the way Jack had said so a million times. 

Jack. 

Sam slams her car door with a little more force than necessary. She meant the Colonel. 

Colonel. 

She pinches the bridge of her nose as she shuffles toward the all-night grocery store just on the edge of her suburb. Should she be driving? Probably not, but Sam figures she’s been doing a lot of reckless things lately. A lot of things that maybe she shouldn’t. 

Crossing her arms tighter across her chest, Sam squints across the darkness of the parking lot toward the bright doors of the store and feels her heart flutter at the silhouette of a man walking out toward a dark truck near the back of the lot. 

He’s tall, with a stern jaw and strong arms that hold several bags of groceries and a six pack, and he’s got a flannel on over his T-shirt. He walks with a surety that’s so familiar to her she has to blink a couple of times to assure herself that it isn’t actually Jack. 

The Colonel. 

Damnit, she’d told Janet this wasn’t going to be a problem. 

Digging her nails into her palms she reminds herself that it isn’t going to be. 

It isn’t. 

When she gets back to the car, it has started to sprinkle. Her hair is a wild mess from the mounting wind and her meager haul from the grocery store is just enough to be an annoying amount to carry. 

Involuntarily, she thinks about the tall man with the strong arms and the silver hair, the twinkle that would be in his eye when he offered to help her, the way she would stretch up on her toes to give him a soft kiss in thanks, the way the rain would fall down around them, dampening their clothes and skin, how easy that would make it for them to see and feel the contours of the other’s body, how his dog tags might clink against hers and-

“What the fuck.” She says aloud, shaking herself as she brings her car’s engine to life. 

Sleep. 

That’s what she needs. She’s been thinking about him a lot lately —for work, she reminds herself hastily — and that mixed with her lack of sleep and the various uppers she’s been pumping into her system have got her all confused now. That’s it. She’s got a few of her wires crossed, but she’s fine. 

She really is. 

The car ride home is filled with hazy thoughts about reactors and equations tweaked just right, and the slow, steady thump of whatever inane pop song is filtering through the radio speakers. 

By the time she gets home, the sprinkle has turned into a steady drizzle that wets everything even further as she juggles herself and her groceries through the front door. She barely makes it a step inside before she drops one of the bags on the hardwood, but she can’t be bothered and leaves it there as she brings the others to the kitchen table. There’s nothing in them that’s perishable or refrigerated (her tastes have always veered just this side of actually edible), so she doesn’t bother to put them away immediately and instead heads for her bedroom. 

She’s pulled off her leather jacket, which is left in a heap in the hallway, and has her shirt halfway over her head by the time she makes it down the hall. When she gets to her room she’s already popped the button on her jeans.

Throwing her shirt haphazardly toward the hamper in the corner, she kicks off her shoes and peels her socks from her feet. Her eyes are feeling heavier by the minute. 

In just her bra and undone jeans, Sam shuffles to the bathroom and washes her face with hot water, then runs her toothbrush over her coffee-coated teeth. 

She peels off the jeans and unclasps her bra, leaving them both on the cold tile of her bathroom floor. 

Stumbling back to her room, she climbs into bed. 

Once there, Sam can’t help but wriggle a bit in her sheets. Her bed is probably her favorite part of her house. The purchase was extravagant, no doubt. She was a single woman, moving alone, with no partners or pets and no immediate plans to change that status, but when she’d laid her eyes on the king sized frame and cloud-like mattress, the queen she’d had since grad school paled in comparison. She’d had to have it and the softest sheets she could afford to match. Now that she had them, she didn’t regret the splurge one bit. 

Sam isn’t a woman of many luxuries due to both nature and line of work, but she took her bed quite seriously. She could be easily lured by the right sheets, she thought merrily to herself, drifting pleasantly into the space between sleep and consciousness, lulled by a sense of relief that she’d finally stopped thinking about Jack. 

*

Sam’s next coherent thought is that this is the wrong kind of rain. The rain when she’d gone to bed was the wet, water kind, and this was the hot, streaming fire kind. 

Not right. 

“Major!” 

She hears his voice behind her and she spins toward it, pounding into his chest when he grabs her by the shoulders and points her back the other way. 

“We have to keep moving,” he whispers, soft, close to her ear. 

It doesn’t make sense that it’s so quiet. That she can hear every little thing as molten rock comes down around them. 

Still, she moves forward without question. Of course she does. 

They’ve been walking in silence a few minutes when they find themselves at the stargate. 

“It’s here! It’s...you can come home!” She exclaims, turns to him with glee, and the look of confusion on his strong features makes her want to kiss him. 

“I think you mean we can go home, Major.” 

Her brows crinkle, but she can’t remember why, can hardly care about semantics now. 

“Yeah. We. Let’s go.” She says, turning away from him, before she remembers that he’s technically supposed to be giving the orders. She meets his eyes again only to see that lopsided smile that makes her want to do things much more dangerous than kiss him. Things like grocery shopping, and coffee, and date nights, and Christmas lights, and Saturday morning cartoons. 

“After you, Major.” he says, and she can’t help but beam back at him. 

When they make it through the Stargate everything is still silent. It’s dark and quiet and such a relief. There’s nothing for anyone to do. No one needs anything. It’s utter peace. 

She and the Colonel say their goodbyes, and she loses a few hours somewhere because she has the sense it’s the middle of the night now, but she’s still thinking about that grin of his as she showers the dirt and soot from her body, and as she watches the dirt and grime circle the drain, she thinks a lot about how she shouldn’t think about him at all. 

She’s reaching for a towel when she trips over the edge of the shower and, screaming, falls into something hard and wet. She can’t find purchase and braces herself for impact just in time to land with a soft “ungh,” onto the colonel’s very warm, very naked chest. 

Their eyes meet in shock, but she can’t think, she can’t move, all she can register is her body pressed tightly against his, her breasts pushing into his hard chest, his thigh slotted perfectly between hers, and it takes all her strength not to grind against him, to think why she shouldn’t. Why was that again? 

“Shit, Carter! Sorry! I thought you’d gone home. I went for a run and I didn’t think there would be anyone here so I left my Walkman on and I didn’t hear the shower and, well, shit...” 

He trails off quietly and Sam is mesmerized, absolutely struck dumb by his lips so close to hers, his skin beneath hers in the locker room, and something like his tongue sliding against hers that she vaguely remembers from a virus that swept through years ago. 

It takes her a moment to notice she’s started to move just a little, to slide herself against him, not caring that she’s fresh and clean and he’s hot and sweaty from the gym. Not wondering why he’s stark naked after his run, or why he’s running at all with his knees in the shape they’re in. That all seems like unnecessary detail in this moment. All she can focus on is the way he’s looking at her, keeping his attention squarely on her face even as his eyes become dark and he licks his lips. 

She knows her expression must be a mirror of his, because whatever he’s fighting, whatever it is he thinks he wants, she wants it a million times more. 

“Carter.” He warns, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t push her away. His hands rest lightly on her hips. Much more lightly than she’d like them to. And she’s so sick of light, of careful, of fear and trepidation and blind hope that whatever this is between them isn’t so clearly what it is. So she rocks forward, ever so slightly, and dips her head to hide her smile when she hears him curse and feels his fingers tighten on her flesh. And gods that’s exactly what she wanted. She can’t resist planting a few little kisses along his chest, against his breastbone and teasingly close to his right nipple. 

And she’s trying to be on the same wavelength as him, trying to remember who she is when she’s not naked and rocking against her CO’s strong thigh, but she can’t remember all the reasons they aren’t supposed to do this, not when his touch lights her up, lifts her up like it does. She’s never felt so euphoric with other lovers, never been so happy and desperate at the same time. 

“Cut that out.” He says, through clenched teeth, and she really starts to giggle now because this is so absurd, them here like this, alone on the concrete floor. 

What she doesn’t count on is her giggle making him buck up, hot and hard, pulsing against her and the subsequent moan that would draw from her own throat, and it suddenly all feels a lot less funny and a lot more desperate and she meets his hips with a thrust of her own and now they are really doing this, they are all but having sex right there on the floor, and she can’t bring herself to give a damn because all she wants is this: him close to her, panting in her ear, unable to resist her, coming apart beneath her, inside her.

His tortured groan is what makes her realize she’s been babbling out loud, about how good he feels and what exactly she wants, and she can’t bring herself to be embarrassed, can only run her teeth along the edge of his ear, and wonder, even as he flips her beneath him, why she wants everything about this so badly and why she couldn’t have it before. 

“Fuck.” He says when he lays her out beneath him, his eyes roving over her, his hands touching everywhere he can reach, making her writhe and push her hips up against him, surge into his hand where it plays against her inner thighs, desperate for friction. 

Sam can’t help but smile even wider because when he ceases his teasing, and their hands twine and he lowers himself to finally, finally satisfy them both, she recognizes the little scar on his left thumb where’s it’s pressing her right hand into the floor and she cranes to give it a little kiss.

Her body is hot and aching and they are both so, so close, she can feel him pulsing against her, and when she looks up to meet his eyes and finds him gone she’s not entirely surprised because the darkness of her room prevents her from immediately understanding what has happened. 

As she begins to grope around, looking for him, for where he’s gone, she registers the soft sound of rain hitting her window — the wet, water kind, and she sinks back into her pillows in defeat. 

It feels like she’s left him behind all over again, and the ache between her legs only makes her more ashamed. She clenches her thighs together and fights back tears of frustration, fear, and longing. 

God, she’d told Janet this, her stupid little crush, wouldn’t be a problem. She’d been telling herself that even longer. 

Rubbing her eyes roughly, Sam grinds out a low groan. She wonders if she was as transparent to Janet as she feels at this moment. 

Sam clenches her soft sheets between her fingers and looks over at the empty space to her left. She may be a bad liar, but she is a damned good scientist, and soldier, and she’ll get him home, and when she does well- she clenches her jaw- well, as soon as she’s sure how he feels, when he is just as elated to see her as she will be to see him, when he gives her that damn cocksure grin of his, then she’ll start working up a strategic plan to turn dreams to reality.


End file.
